The Labyrinthine Enigma
by WanderingLotte
Summary: He was the labyrinth, she the lone pioneer. One-shot.


**AN:** _Hello, readers, WanderingLotte here. I welcome you to my first published piece here on . This particular work has been living in my documents folder, unfinished and untouched, for quite sometime. I want to apologize for any mistakes, grammar or otherwise, that might exist. I don't have a beta, and do not claim to be the strongest grammar-wiz on the planet, but if any of you would like to volunteer as one, I would be_ _ecstatic! Just shoot me a PM, and I would be more than appreciative. On a slightly similar note, I have been working on a full length story, but am only in its very early stages. I could use a lot of help with that, as I've been abandoned by my previous one, so I wanted to put that out there as well. Lastly, if anyone wants to leave any one-shot suggestions for me, I would greatly enjoy that too! I love to write but find that I do have a lot of trouble coming up with little plots. Feel free to suggest something, and I will most definitely consider it. Well, that just about wraps things up here! Onward!_

 _Psst! Reviews would also be greatly appreciate, no matter the length._

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Twilight flourished before the waves of the Seine, its likeness reflected in the murky depths. Another dimension in the form of an authentic watercolor seemed to paint the surface, and Christine wondered if the image was just as picturesque from beneath the canal's surface.

That afternoon had proved to be one of the most trying, tender limbs the ever-present reminder of Christine's position as a ballerina-in-training. Though she had certainly felt differently earlier, Christine only regarded the Madame with gratitude for granting her this small respite.

Meg had initially pleaded with her to accept her company - resorting to faulty arguments of necessary protection- but Christine knew that her friend would not have wanted to stay at length. When she reminded Meg of that fact, she finally acquiesced, albeit with her signature pout.

That day, along with the earlier half of the week, her time was spent rehearsing with the older members of the _corps_.

It was currently the end of the month-long hiatus allotted to all company-members before performances for the next season would begin. Over this period, Madame Giry ruthlessly refined every dancer's technique, drilling them from the first traces of dawn until the sun set on Apollo's Lyre. The Madame believed firmly in consistency, and a designated lull in performances was no excuse for idleness in her mind.

Christine's entire body ached, and she relished any chance she had to rest– luncheon in the Populaire's canteen, her night's sleep, and the moment she could steal away to see, or rather, _listen_ to her angel.

As Christine's chin rested on her palm, a ghost of a smile lightened her features.

It hardly felt like a month had passed since her angel had first made his presence known to her, yet reality revealed that the first year of their friendship would be consummated in just a few days.

Never in her life had she spoken with a being as profound as the Angel of Music. He was very worldly, and Christine basked in his omnipotence every moment they spent together.

Yes, he was strict, but a bond had been forged between the two, very kindred in its essence, and even if she could never imagine an angel ever lacking in companionship within Heaven's golden gates, a lingering sense of loneliness, similar to her own, always existed.

The watery ripples shifted, and before her was the image she had fashioned of her angel. With only his voice to guide her imaging, she thought him to be quite large - in build and presence - accurately embodying the grandeur she detected in his tenor laced baritone. His hair was dark, and if possible, a furrow would be permanently inscribed in the flesh between his eyebrows. It was an endearing quality in her eyes, for though he may outwardly exude supreme authority and cynicism - however odd that may be for one of Heaven's angels – she has always sensed an inner vulnerability.

His face had always evaded any other sort of permanent image in her mind. Every attempt she made at creating his countenance never settled the right way. As it stood, it seemed like his visage would forever remain a nude blur in her mind's-eye.

Though his appearance was an overall enigma, his life rivaled any other mystery she had ever encountered. He was wont to avoid any discussion regarding his own existence, always evading any sort of question she posed with an inquiry of his own. She had found it quite frustrating in the beginning, pouting like the child she was until a firm reprimand returned her jutted lip to a polite position.

Christine now simply passed it off as one of his many eccentricities, taking graciously any information that she would rarely receive.

He was an intricate labyrinth in which she explored – a surprise with every step. His walls were tall and seemingly impenetrable, save for the few cleverly disguised cracks she found in the foundation.

Her progress was slow, but she did not doubt that if she continued to persevere, no matter how long her journey would take, she would emerge into the opening and be gifted the abundance of secrets that he kept.

Her angel was composed of misleading twists an turns, but was certainly no match for the fortitude of Christine Daaé.


End file.
